Downsizing and Collecting Memories

Me, reflected two ways, in the shop window of Let's Dish with a very cool punch bowl and cups. Once I would have coveted it for its decorative appearance in a collection of such things. No more. I read an article about some folks trying to pass a law to keep museums from selling art to pay the bills. Made me say 'hmmm.' Seems like a museum has a charter, yada, yada and a board with oversight. A law? Hmmm.

Anyway, it always makes me think about downsizing when I see something interesting that I might once have owned but now have to be circumspect about. Makes me think how now we collect words as pixels (instead of in notebooks) and digital pictures of things instead of prints. Or, even, the things themselves.

It's surprising how fuzzy the line is between the concrete and the virtual. Especially with art...words and pictures. In our building lobby there is some real art and some TV screens showing slides of art from galleries. I enjoy both.

Of course, some things are real and corporeal. This cup of coffee in my hand. Plunged into SXSW movies and (last night) a bit of music, one wonders about the levels of experience. The live music vs. the iPod. The movie house versus the real experience versus the movie on TV. Subtitles versus understanding the languange.

Yes, since last we spoke I have fought off illness to see all of three movies in two days. Oh, we also went to the Austin Music Awards and sat through it until the end when Roky Erickson jammed with a band called Black Angels. It was pretty entertaining, really, although the Austin Music Hall is the worst venue imaginable. Uncomfortable, bad accoustics. Oh. Well. I'm pretty sure if the city didn't own it they would shut it down.

But the movies. Of the three we saw on Tuesday and Wednesday, I'd say that the best by a long shot was "Sweethearts of the Prison Rodeo." About the Oklahoma prison rodeo with a focus on the women allowed to compete in recent years, it was really about incareration and prison life and the very real people inside. They came to life as characters. We also saw "Sissyboy," a show with promise about a troupe of guys performing very radical skits in drag. It failed me as I didn't get a sense of the characters beyond their participation in the group and the basic 'growing up gay and different' thing. The piece didn't have a dramatic arc and the lives didn't seem to either. Yesterday we saw one movie. "For the Love of Movies: The Story of American Film Criticism." It was complete and it is good that they captured some people while they were still alive to speak about movie criticism. I wasn't mesmerized, though. But I felt more educated about the subject.

Today we plan to see one movie. Well, I plan to see one movie. It is a fascinating topic. In 1974 when Ali and Foreman had the 'rumble in the jungle' in Zaire, there was also a three-day soul music festival. This documentary is made from many hours of footage from that event. FFP may see more movies, but I have to deal with relatives visiting my dad so it isn't too hard on him. I could have caught another one this morning but, instead, I'm doing a few chores. Changing the bed, doing laundry. I managed to clean one bathroom yesterday. It seemed like a big chore because I wasn't feeling that well. I need to clean out my car, too, so I can fetch some relatives from the airport tomorrow. I sent FFP off with a grocery bag stuffed with things for the thrift store. It feels like downsizing all over again perhaps because I stashed things in my car that I couldn't decide about last summer during the death throes of getting out of the house.

But, as the kids say when things look a little tattered but everyone is still standing, "it's all good." SXSW has taken over downtown but our place is a quiet enclave. You wouldn't know anything was going on from up here. I have relatives visiting and the attendant hassle of entertaining them, but, as Dad says "they will be gone soon enough and you will forget about it." My head hurts a little, but some decon has cleared up some morning dizziness and some Ibuprofin will probably make everything great.

So...I went to my car and as I looked at a stack of New Yorkers therein I remembered the very articles I was hoping to read sometime before I tossed them. But I did get rid of a few things. Very few. My attachment to to things is ephemeral now. The trunk is full of tapes and CDs that I'm listening to one last time before tossing them (in other words, putting in the thrift store bag). There was also a suitcase of spare clothes (now in storage). A ton of old tennis balls. Haven't dealt with that yet. My tennis bag, a spare tennis racket and a 'pick up' container of old balls to take to a court and practice serving. I think I'll ditch the latter and assume I'll never use it again or, if I'm tempted, I'll borrow one at the club. My car was definitely the refuge of last resort to save things from being downsized. Or was it Dad's house? I brought a box of books and articles and maps for and about New York from there the other day. Definitely need to get rid of some of it. Sigh.

My SXSW

When last we spoke, dear reader, one day of SXSW was gone and we had seen exactly one movie after getting our badges and some advanced tickets. Of course, we had gone to the Texas Film Hall of Fame party and the pre-party before that. (See Connie Britton above left with Dana Wheeler-Nicholson helping with the live auction at the gala. They are stars in "Friday Night Lights," a TV show we love.)

Well, the weekend went well. We managed four films and a panel on Saturday and Sunday. Some peoples' schedules are much more brutal but with my persistent allergy/cold (I thought I was getting over it and then it morphed and bit again) and FFP needing to do some writing we couldn't do the death march. We met up with some Cinematic people including our friend Jette who were rushing about madly and our friend Christopher Holland of B-Side Entertainment said he had to wait until a lot of people left before he could see some films. A college sophomore from Baylor declared in the line Sunday night that it would be her sixth film. She should have the stamina for the nursing career she is going to pursue.

Saturday we got a few things handled and then went to the Convention Center theater and queued up for "45365." A man who turned out to be the three brother filmmakers' father handed us a matchbook with the times for the showings and the title stamped on it. The title (pronouneced four-five-three-six-five) is the zip code for Syndey, Ohio where the filmmakers grew up. The kids wanted to write about their home town which they had left behind for film work and college and finally decided to make a doc and make the town speak for itself through film of the place and some inhabitants. At first I thought maybe they needed to edit some stuff but gradually I realized the film was pitch perfect. They stayed out of the way and let the town and some residents speak. By the end we had figured out relationships, we wondered about backgrounds and what would happen next for people. We knew what events people looked forward to and how the seasons unfolded there. We found ourselves in a line for another movie later talking to other people who'd seen it about the various characters in it like they were from our own hometown or, at least, characters in a well-formed narrative.

We walked back to the condo for a quick snack and refresh and headed out to the movie "Objectified." It was made by Gary Hustwit, who made the movie "Helvetica" we so enjoyed last year. The movie is a documentary about the 'stuff' around us and how it is designed and the life cycle of all the things in our world. Very enjoyable. We headed to Taste after that to have a meal. Just didn't have another movie in us. The meal and wine were pleasant.

Sunday we sat around in our sweats for a while, doing some writing and taking in the Sunday paper and such. FFP made us a big breakfast of migas and toast which sustained us until we ate a meal in front of a movie at Alamo South Lamar.

We headed to the Convention Center and went to Christopher Holland's book book signing for "Film Festival Secrets." We wanted to see a panel on design with the director of "Objectified" and some designers and a New York Times magazine writer, Rob Walker, who writes a column about, well, stuff. There was a bit of time to wait so we got a cup of coffee and went into the day stage cafe where the Interactive conference interview of Nate Silver by Stephen Baker was being broadcast. Heh, we wouldn't have been admitted to an Interactive panel with a film badge. It was pretty interesting. Silver is the numbers guy behind FiveThirtyEight.com and Stephen Baker wrote "The Numerati." After this we went to the panel on design. It was packed. Like the movie "Objectified" it was a joint Interactive/Film event. There were lots of people with funny dye jobs and vintage clothes. Must be more of that in the online world than in film.

We decided when the panel ended to try the new (for this year's fest) shuttle and waited a few minutes to catch a bus at 4th and Red River. We were tremendously early for "Bomber" but it was worth the wait. It was a witty family drama about a mom, dad and son who go off on a quest to let the dad resolve the wounds of a mistake made when he was a teenaged kid in WWII. Around this hook we see a delightful bit of Europe and watch a family try to unravel the damages life brings and get down to basic caring.

When the movie (and our meal) was over we were wondering "could we actually see another?" We decided to try. We waited for the shuttle bus which came after a while and delivered us to 7th Street near Congress. We decided not to try going back to the house and had a cup of coffee and a snack at the Hidelout. Lines were long for the movie, "Women in Trouble," at the Paramount. There were many VIPs and celebrities but we got in, no problem, and got our favorite seats (left section orchestra, row T, two on the aisle). We were excited that Connie Britton was in the movie and another "Friday Night Lights" actress, Andriane Palacki. The movie was raunchy, irreverant, unlikely and laugh-out-loud funny. It was "Pulp Fiction" all is connected style without the violence. Well, there was a tiny bit of violence, nothing to speak of.

We were more than done when the movie was over, but people were queued outside for another. We got home just after midnight.

Yesterday (Monday) we were all about trying to have a reasonable pace. I was trying to get over whatever weird illness plagues me and FFP was up against some deadlines. We finally settled on seeing a shorts program at 1:30 at Alamo South and walking up there for our alleged exercise. Shorts Reel 1 seemed disorganized and theme-less. I know themes are hard to achieve in these things but this one had everything from a wordless narrative short of amazing physical comedy ("Sunday Mornings") to a documentary about cleaning up the 'chicken bones and newspaper' type hoarder's house ("Isis Avenue"). Those two were pretty worthy as was an over the top improv about therapy called "Countertransference." But all in all the reel left me hungry for coherence. But I was otherwise quiet sated with a three cheese grilled sandwich and fries and a Coke.

We walked home. (The walk home from Alamo is easier because it is mostly downhill.) We got a few things done and headed out for "The Two Bobs." It was a big deal movie for the fest, shot around town and with Tim McCanlies, writer and director. We'd gotten an advance ticket which allows first dibs in the badge line. We were surprised to see a good sixty or eighty people with 'cast and crew' tickets. All was utter chaos at the Paramount but we got in and got our usual seats. The movie was slapstick and predictable but great fun nonetheless with fabulous set decoration and many local folks involved. The game animation was great fun, a bloody sendup of the genre. I have to say I liked it. I was looking for friend Jeff Lofton who was an extra but missed his moments on the screen. (I think I was distracted by Turk Pipkin in drag in that scene.) We were going to meet the Loftons for drinks and dinner, but after all was chaos. We didn't have a mobile number so FFP went back to the place to find it. I waited around trying to spot them. There were such crowds for the next movie plus Leslie posing in front of the Paramount that I finally decided we'd missed them and started home myself. Then FFP called and he'd gotten them on the phone and they were in front of the Paramount. We converged at Taste, heard the end of Trevor LaBonte and Liz Morphis doing their set and ate dinner and drank, all six of us. Taste was deserted. If you SXSWers are looking for a place to dine, venture all the way to Cesar Chavez, it's not far, and grab some fab food and wine. They even have Yelp specials for SXSW.

And then bed. I developed a cough at the beginning of the meal which I contained with cough drops and decon and water (and OK some wine). It's heck being sick during so much activity. Today is St. Pat's day. Last night was chaos downtown already and music isn't starting until the end of the week. We are going to try to see two movies today. And perhaps get some errands done. If I feel like it, maybe house cleaning. (I don't have to be very sick to eschew that.)

Know Thyself

It's good to know oneself, I think. SXSW film always makes me realize a few things about moi. And I'm going to tell you some of those things this morning. FFP sits behind me writing for hire (although admittedly for a pittance). I sit here writing about my favorite subject (me) for free. (At least I'm not paying for the privilege of writing other than the cost of the computer and all.)

I would rather not be in crowds or lines. We went to the trouble of trying to get an advance ticket for this movie we wanted to see last night. We bought badges, but they are giving out limited numbers of advanced tickets that they said would allow you to be seated in front of other badge holders. However, when we got to the theater (later than we normally would have) the guy was uninformed and made us go to the back of the line. After some people were seated they reversed themselves and let us in ahead of a few people who hadn't waited around to get advanced tickets. This irritated me, but once I had an OK seat I just drank a Guinness and enjoyed the movie about conspiracy theorists. I don't like lines and crowds. It's hard to go anywhere at the film fest where there aren't a lot of other people. So that is kind of a downer about festivals.

The movie we saw last night was a doc about conspiracy theorists who believe everything in the world is controlled by a handful of people. I don't agree with the folks who are featured in it, but I don't necessarily think the government always tells us everything. But that isn't the point of watching a documentary like "New World Order." The point is to look in the eyes of people obsessed with something. The point is to see what is going on with other people without having to be where they are. It is nice to be presented with another viewpoint while having a goat cheese plate and a Guinness at the Alamo Ritz. So I don't like lines and crowds but I do like seeing obscure docs instead of the latest blockbuster film.

And, yeah, we only saw one movie. I had another 'penciled in.' But we knew, in our heart of hearts, that we probably wouldn't make that one. I've been battling some little cold or allergy. I'd even napped in the afternoon before we went and I was taking medicine. It was cold and rainy out in line land. (See above.) So we came home and watched TV and read the papers. Today we have three movies on the calendar. One we definitely want to see and we got an advance ticket for it. How many do I think we'll see. Maybe, two. We were just sitting here discussing how we might skip another movie...to have drinks with friends.

Drinks, yeah. There are lots of parties where free food and drink is available to badge holders. But we know in advance that we don't really want to jostle in crowds for special drinks or certain beers offered by sponsors or fight over cheese cubes or other apps. We just as soon go to a favorite bar and pay for our sins. So the idea of a party that is exclusive to gazillion badge holders? Not so much. So I sort out the party invites and then plan one-by-one to miss them.

It's time to get showered up and face my fun day. It's a bit dreary and cold. I have this cold or allergy that has robbed me of my voice and some of my sensibility (or maybe that is the drugs). But I have fun things to do, really. See obscure movies. Look at life through others' eyes. And see what's happening on the streets of Austin as SXSW takes it by storm. (Music doesn't start until next Wednesday.)

I know these things about myself. Just must remember them. I'll only make it to half the movies I think I will because of the crowds and lines, mostly. I'll see an array of obscure docs and such (which won't reduce the crowding, there are other weirdos here). I'll skip parties, but we will be tempted to go out to bars and restaurants (probably while skipping a movie).

La ti da. So goes retirement. I could have to work and have to take vacation to continue the fest on Monday. I guess when you don't work, you have to find something to play hooky from even if it is supposedly fun stuff.

Celebrity Watch

I am not that into celebrities. No really. My Austin Daily Photo pictures from the last two days might make it seem so. But no. Unknowns are as interesting to me as celebrities. In fact, I often embarrass myself by not knowing who celebrities are, why their faces look familiar. Assuming I even recognize them as, you know, someone that should be recognized.

These photographers were shooting people last night as they came down the red carpet at the Texas Film Hall of Fame gala. I doubt they wasted film or pixels on us. (Although one friend in the press line did shoot us, I think.)

Now the festival begins. People will flock to the big deal premieres not just to see the film but to look for celebs and maybe ask them a question at Q&A. That is sometimes interesting, but not essential to my experience. I just want to see a few weird docs and meet people who are yet to be famous. Only I can't talk to anyone because I have almost totally lost my voice. So it goes. I'll be quietly watching movies for the next week or so. If you see me, nod hello. I'll nod back.

You can't disappear even for a moment...

That's what it's come to really. If you blog and you miss a day (or a week or whatever) people wonder. On facebook? Your friends follow. Tweeting? They follow more. Have e-mail? Your friends, too? Why aren't you keeping up? Smart phones let you follow and be followed everywhere. You never have to out of touch with buddies or family.

I still don't have a smart phone. (I am starting to pass my phone around at parties and meetings to show what a relic it is.) But I have opened a Twitter account. (Not to Tweet but just to follow one person. No it's nothing like that. Just a blogger I like.) I am kind of a facebook addict and I try to make my silly life interesting in short, frequent sentences. I blog, of course. And I have been thinking about this blog entry for a few days. (It was better in my head, really it was.)

Anyway, I was thinking about how, now that we are so connected in so many ways, that it is a radical act not to communicate or to build communication walls with a particular person. Wasn't always so.

Around Labor Day 1972 I left for a tramp around Europe. I had an open-ended return ticket (to New York anyway) and a three month Eurailpass, a bit of money and a vision of adventure. It wasn't exactly what I imagined but it was pretty glorious. I came home around the first week of December. Letters went home, taking many days if not weeks. Letters came to Post Restantes or American Express Offices and finally to the home of friends of friends. Long lapses of communication. I phoned home maybe once or twice. Expensive proposition of going into an office, waiting in line, getting a booth and having the call placed. With no Internet and a limited knowledge of the languages around me, I craved words in English. Precious English language novels and magazines were passes around and after I made friends with someone who worked on an army base we got some magazines that way.

I was out of touch with people back home. They had to follow along with those much-delayed letters and postcards. The lag did us some good, I think. Put a bit of reflection on all relationships. Dulled the edges of things. I still have some of the postcards I sent home. And letters on thin paper designed for Air Mail with every bit of the space carefully filled. It allowed me to grow in a new place and way.

Makes me wonder if our very connectedness today doesn't tie us to our current selves. Not that much personal growth or change will come about at my age. Although...what do you think of my radically short haircut? And what do you think about the fact that everyone on the Internet can see it this way? No going away now to lose a few pounds, change your hairstyle or get a tan and surprise everyone next time they see you. You have to upload mobile pictures all along the way.

It's not really true, though. Actually we can't mentally keep up with any more things than we can physcially really. When millions are out there, you can still just keep up with so many. But maybe you can do it at home, while being a recluse and communicating only one way and keeping your haircut to yourself.

A Few Random Reflections

Shop window reflection courtesy of AuthentiCity on Congress Avenue.

But I was thinking more of reflections of the verbal, essay-like sort.

• Does a stock market rally that is HUGE percentage-wise really mean anything in this environment?
• Is it true that joblessness has caused a new surge of volunteerism because people have to have something to do and they have less money to give?
• I heard a thrift store (run by Junior League) on Burnet Road was closing due to competition from new clothes sold by Costco, Walmart, etc. Can this be a real trend?
  
• A friend who sorts collected donations for a charity's annual sale says donations are down. Are people not buying new clothes either and just wearing the stuff they used to give away?
• Above two remind me that there is a sack of stuff in my car that needs to be dropped at the thrift store. I patronize Top Drawer. I hope they don't go out of business. I hope they keep making enough money to stay open because they give vouchers to clients of AIDS orgs in town to shop for free. Free clothing and housewares seems good.
• I gave lots of stuff including toys and collectibles and housewares of some value to the above in the great downsizing. We gave away a lot of books, too.
• FFP has been looking for a book called Guns, Germs and Steel for two days. It never got cataloged but he says he once owned it. Maybe we gave it away.
• We were trying to sort and get rid of magazines a couple of days ago. I can't give away the Harper's Magazine or The New Yorker without first flipping through them. Too often this results in many minutes reading an article.
• We are going to the SXSW film festival. We claim to be film buffs but really we aren't. We like obscure docs. We have no idea about, for example, Watchmen and will be happy to never see it. Movies about young peoples' angst leave me cold.
  
• And yet we watch 24.
  
• We watched L Word. They spent the entire season teasing about killing off a character I hate. So, yeah, they did it. Ho. Hum. Not sorry to see them go.
• Have you seen United States of Tara? Inexplicably, I like it. That Diablo Cody really surprised me. She made me like a like some young folks and their angst and someone with an identity disorder.
• Speaking of young people (or maybe ALL people) have you noticed how people go out in groups in these sort of uniforms. Saw two guys in the Texas Chili Parlor, both in cargo shorts, tennis shoes with no visible socks, safari shirts (the ones with the vents and such), untucked, ball caps. Of course, FFP and I go out in slacks/blazer. You know what else? Young ladies go out in fancy party dresses with decolletage and lots of leg showing and high heels and are accompanied by guys in jeans, untucked shirts and flip flops. And all those tattoos and piercings you see. Although, I've got to say I meet more and more of the adorned young that are really great creative people. Diablo Cody. I'm just saying.
• Do you ever notice that when you don't have too much to do, you don't get much done? Lately I've had lots of free time really. Did I get stuff cleaned and organized? Not so much. Did I do any serious writing? You know the answer to that. No, instead when some appointment comes up I'm a little colicky even if it's a fun thing. I was thinking I'd have tomorrow free, but I was talking to Dad and he reminded me that I have to take him for a blood test and a haircut. I'm such a slug. Oh. Well.
• I'm upset at my coffee machine. It said it wanted to be cleaned I went through the cycle but it forgot we were doing it and went back to wanting to be cleaned again. This has happened before but somehow I got out of it. The only thing in the place I love more than that machine is FFP. But it can be frustrating loving stuff when it does you wrong.
• Which reminds me. I'm using this software I found called syncplicity as a third level of backup. (I have a local script backing up to a drive on the network and a paid-for Internet connected backup.) It is free. When it failed briefly this morning, it upset me. Ditto free scheduling software for the film festival. It's free. But if it's not perfect I can still get upset. facebook doesn't work to suit me? Same thing. People providing stuff for free are still held to the highest standards. I used to work for businesses that sold software. We had bugs all the time. We always acted sorry, though.
  

Yeah, random stuff. I'm going to do something useful now. Um.. Yeah.

Comfort and Politics

A friend who blogs on many weighty subjects said recently:

"I realize my best moments of magnanimousness are easier because Steven and I are safe - economically, physically and spiritually."

He also quoted Warren Buffet who said recently:

"The people that behaved well are no doubt going to find themselves taking care of the people who didn't behave well"

This morning I was reading Harper's (March 2009) and Lewis H. Lapham quoted C.V. Wedgwood in his column.

"Few men are so disinterested as to prefer to live in discomfort under a government which they hold to be right, rather than in comfort under one which they hold to be wrong."

Lapham was assailing Obama's cabinet choices, but I'll leave that argument aside. I want to talk about comfort. And politics.

A lot of people talk about wanting change. And now that the stock market has tanked and mortgages are threatened with forclosure (if they can be found at all) people would like to change that. But folks who have achieved some comfort don't want to give it up. Sure Buffet and Gates can talk about not minding paying more taxes. I get that. They already had billions (with a 'b') dollars of excess money to give away. Clearly the lifestyle they find comfortable is far below the income they have. The tax code makes a bigger difference to me. Sure I give away money. Obama wants to change the way that donations are taxed. Probably the big boys don't care. I do. It's either taxes or donations for me on that percentage. I'd rather get the tax break because I'm not crazy about the government spending money, buy hey. I don't look forward to the government deciding on a confiscatory tax rate down in my realm because, of course, I foolishly planned my retirement on a more reasonable one. Of course, some of the returns are disappearing...making the tax rates irrelevant. Also, to make things more predictable, we invested in tax-free bonds. I suppose the goverment could decide to tax this income. I don't think they will given the disarray of all credit markets including that for municipal bonds. I imagine that such an action would bankrupt thousands of cities and utilities and schools. But you never know.

Are my views selfish? Of course. But how many of us are willing to make ourselves uncomfortable in some outpouring of fairness? Certainly not me. I understand that my good sense in the past will be punished to some degree as my tax dollars provide 2% mortgages to people who did not plan well. (Or behave well as Warren would have it.) I just wish that those of us who did behave well could get 2% on our money markets!

There is a reason that fiscal liberals are largely found among the very, very comfortable and the penniless. Those of us in betwen must plan more carefully to stay comfortable. The very comfortable person already has a large discretionary level of income they can do without. (Of course, some people can never get enough money for themselves. Like you, Bernie.) The penniless have nothing to lose in a tax increase and everything to gain in increased food stamps, mortgage resets, etc. I budget for my charity and for my taxes. Like everything in my budget, when something gives one place, it gives another. The last thing I give up willingly is my comfort. Regardless of how unfair some might think it is for me to be comfortable. The sad thing is that the deficit can't be handled by the billionaires, it will ultimately fall further down to me and to other retirees and folks who just were trying to be comfortable. People worry about bankrupting the next generation. I worry about bankrupting mine and the greatest generation in their retirement.

Generally Speaking

Generalizations are dangerous. Everyone is sitting at a different juncture, looking out at certain things and interacting with the people and things near them while watching a film reel of things just out of reach. Of course, with TV and the Internet and old school newspapers and such that passing parade of 'other lives' is congested with scenes from here and yon, with images imagined and brought to life with pictures or videos.

I snapped a photo in one of the penthouses in the 360 at a benefit party. I decided that going out on the various balconies would get better pictures. But this one shows the Palmer Events Center through the window, from above. You could live up there and that would become one of the exterior views in your life, as common as breathing to you. Just as our views from our windows and balcony have become a little expected if not ordinary to us.

We are all doing things that wouldn't seem that weird to others but things which are not what they are experiencing. We grab onto things where we can relate. People talk about their illnesses and their cures (two people at dinner last night had done acupuncture). Folks chat about TV shows, sports events, movies that they watched separately but can now discuss and analyze. We are interested in people talking about places we haven't been, things we haven't done but, in our heart of hearts, we want to have been there and have that first-hand experience.

When we generalize about people, though, we need to remember that while their age, race, sex, sexual preference, diet, habits, wealth and where they live shapes them, it shapes each into a completely unique individual.

Does this all sound like I have nothing to say? Yeah, that's pretty much it. I've thought of writing a piece about how I hate Internet and Text abbreviations (and yet made one up myself the other day). I've thought about writing something about the walkability of my new home. But, no, this is the drivel you get. Sorry.

Not What I Expected

I expected to feel rushed and blurry about now. We went out last night and ate an old school steakhouse meal. I had promised my dad I'd pick him up after his games day at church for a late lunch. Next week (well and the weekend, too) is packed with events in the evening. But I got up without complaint around seven, having slept through the night without getting up for some Advil and/or stomach relief. (I find Aloe Vera gel caps a mild way to relief the sin of overeating and drinking and then lying down.)

Yeah, in fact, I'm not feeling rushed or anything. I called my dad, confirmed our plans. I've posted an entry to Austin Daily Photo. (I just stepped out on the balcony and took a picture of Auditorium Shores where the Star of Texas Fair and Rodeo cowboy breakfast is taking place.) I admit I'm often inordinately proud (a phrase I love) of keeping up with ADP. (I'm not into numbers or anything but my dashboard says I'm made 666 posts. The devil is in ADP today!)

I've had a couple of leisurely cups of coffee. I edited a story for FFP. I made his recalcitrant wireless USB mouse work again. Himself went across the street for Pilates at Ballet Austin. It's quiet and calm. I can hear myself think. (Did you ever wonder about that phrase? "I can't hear myself think?" Mom would say. What does that sound like?)

Yeah, I'm just sitting here riffing on my life. Wondering what I should be doing. Maybe continuing the discouraging filing I started yesterday, going over to the gym to sweat a little. Life will catch up with me soon enough and it will be time to go pick up Dad and meet a friend of ours for a deli lunch.

I have lots of things on my 'to do' list, of course. All kinds of straightening and organizing things. I need to do some of that at Dad's house, too. But there seems to be time enough for everything. Don't rush it. I wasn't expecting to feel this way today.

If you had told me back in the summer or in September that I would be looking at a Dow below 7000 and calmly figuring out how to keep the old retirement going and wondering what was going to happen to all us retired folks as the world sputtered to some possible ignomious end, I would have expected it. But I really wouldn't have expected to be so adaptable about it. I guess I'm not surprised that we just keep embracing fun. Why not when the world is in such turmoil. Oh, I know people sometimes hesitate in this environment to spend and I have, too, but mostly on things, on stuff and only because after downsizing the impact of stuff gets my attention.

You get up in the morning and things are familiar but in another way not what you would have expected or predicted. I think that's what keeps us going, going around the corner to see what's next.

I was thinking last night that I might go dark (see picture above, taken at Blackmail on South Congress for illustration, but really I mean go quiet, go dark is a theater term, but I digress) with blogging and facebook and all of it. I just sound so stupid and whiny to myself. But here I am blogging away. It's a disease.

The Virtual Line

As my three (or is it five?) loyal readers know, I'll say pretty much anything here in my blogs and publish pretty much any self-indulgent picture. Above, me reflected in Turquoise Door shop window, SoCo, with Oaxacan animals and a shadow of...what?

I figure it's a blog. You don't have to come. You can stay away entirely. I rarely (have I ever?) post a link pointing to my blog except on other blogs (and in my info on facebook). I'm not pimping the thing, trying to go viral, whatever. Think of me as off in a corner at the party, talking to myself unless you come over and draw me out.

That facebook thing and message boards present some unique virtual lines, though. Once someone is in your network you have to opt out of seeing what they are up to. And you have a choice really, to just lurk, or post status, notes, etc. there. Today one of the people in my network posted this status: " X shares unrequested advice, third hand: Make every update count." I'm guilty of posting inane things. Or boring ones. But you know what? I don't mind anyone's little status updates. "Going to bed." "Up too late." "Working on a contract." I like it. Some people just hit 'post' on status and it comes out as something like "Joe is." Like a heartbeat. Cool in a way. Showed up and pushed a button. Sort of like those lifelines for old people that go beyond the button and sense whether they are there or make them intentionally check in. I see people I like doing ordinary things. It's cool. The links I don't like so much? People are trying to pimp something and you don't always even know what and you follow the link and it's a video (did I mention I don't much like watching videos online?) or a political diatribe. I don't care about people who are playing games or giving virtual crap to one another. It's not real. Go out and have a real beer and put it in your status.

Yeah, everyone has some virtual line he won't cross in these sort of unreal worlds of social media (what does that phrase mean anyway?). On facebook one thing I don't like to do is ask people to be my friend if I am not sure they would have any idea who I was. Also, even if I know some one perfectly well and would be civil to them and confirm them as a friend, if they are someone that I would not invite to my home then I won't initiate the friend connection. If they initiate, though, then fine. Does that make sense? Sometimes people suggest I be friends with someone and I'm just not sure who they are, sadly.

It's la-la land out there, almost as surreal as the real world where we bump up against strangers, acquaintances and friends in odd ways. We all have our odd rules and boundaries there. So it's no surprise that the cyberworld has people with lots of differing opinions sliding around against each other. And it's no surprise to me, given my propensity to occasionally sit in a corner at parties, that I sometimes feel like leaving message boards, other people's comment threads and facebook behind to slide into the cul-de-sac of a blog. And one with moderated comments at that.

Things are just layered and nuanced out there. No one straightforward path. And, oh, that shadow. I think I know what made it.

Why the Change?

You know how you consciously try to change things (lose weight! exercise more! get up earlier and accomplish something in the morning!)? But how you don't change things but stick in the same ruts?

And then one morning you are suddenly up earlier than usual. Oh, it's only thirty or forty-five minutes earlier. It's a little darker, it feels like you have more time. Before you usually get up, you've done your daily blogging to the Austin Daily Photo site (about a tree-climbing dog, ha) and you've checked e-mail and facebook and not much is happening. People are asleep. FFP is still asleep. You make a cup of coffee, get the three newspapers inside (but only look at front pages). The place is quiet (except for the door creaking, must get some WD-40 on it; and except for the coffee machine grinding and groaning). I have the quiet aluminum Apple keyboard.

You are as surprised to be up as if you'd found a bunch of doll heads in your easy chair. (Well, maybe not that surprised. Picture taken Monday at Blackmail on SoCo.)

Yeah, that is how my morning unfolded. It's not even seven and I am on with my day. Maybe I'll get some exercise in before nine. I'll have lots of time to get a shower and go see about things at my dad's before taking him to a memorial service for a friend.

I like being up earlier. It's true I've gone to bed slightly earlier the last few days. Not much though. To what can I attribute this early start? I have a nagging fear that because I didn't drink last night I was more lively this morning. Not even a glass of wine or a beer. I spent the whole day in the condo, cleaning, doing computer chores, goofing off a bit. I didn't eat too much and developed a headache before taking an Advil and venturing the ten feet down the hall to the gym. I felt better after that but I didn't want to risk it. When FFP wanted some white wine with the grilled sandwiches he was making, I said open it but I was having any. He just skipped it, too. (He's still asleep so maybe drinking isn't at the core of it.) Hey, but I also didn't drink any coffee late. It just didn't sound good. I wanted a soda, maybe a Root Beer or Ginger Beer. But I would have had to go down to the store (down the elevator, walk a hundred feet) because we didn't have any on hand. We did have some snacks I dipped into. And I ate a chocolate bar someone had given us in a gift basket. I don't usually eat chocolate.

This weekend is the start of the dreaded Daylight Savings Time. You wouldn't think it would make a difference for a retired person but tennis games follow the government's whimsical clock because things people do after change times as well (meetings, Bridge games, lunches, etc.). Everyone adjusts, like it or not. But this morning I'm just up earlier than usual. For no reason.

So, on with my day. And I hope that's the only surprise in it.

The Trees Are Always There

One minute you are floating free, tethered only by a little string. The next you are caught on one of life's waiting limbs. So it goes.

Yeah, trying to wring metaphor out of this kite festival picture. The only surprise was that there were so few kites in trees given all the ones aloft and the ones being launched.

I'm sitting here displacing from doing one or all of the following: exercise, cleaning the kitchen, doing some personal and business accounting, reviewing information for tomorrow's board meeting of my club, taking a walk. I'd rather blog and edit pictures. And drink coffee. Oh...and I also should be processing some updates to my Apple and to my VMware XP image on it. But then I couldn't sit here using the machine to blog and look at Facebook and watch the Dow plunge, could I?

My life is either absolutely and totally the best or a mess. I'm voting for the former, really, but sometimes I don't know.

I am really pleased by the relative simplicity of living downtown in a 1200 square foot apartment. I'm doing my own cleaning and not using a service. And while this is a pain on days when I actually do cleaning, it means that strangers aren't poking about at inconvenient times and I'm not having to supervise them. There isn't a lot of area to cover. When I vacuum I don't even have to plug and unplug the old Electrolux I borrow from upstairs too many times. (I do have to go get it and return it and that's a pain. I'd get my own vacuum but I haven't figured out where to store it.) I do have a storage cage which needs to be thoroughly cleaned out since during move-in we kind of tossed things in there. Ditto the spare closet. Anyway, basically living here is charmed. I haven't started my car since Saturday. (Tennis was cancelled today. If I could walk to my country club, I would indeed have a charmed life. But it's too far.)

My parental units (my dad, FFP's parents) seem to be rocking along, doing pretty darn well in their houses in spite of their age (average=93) and our responsibilities for them are more anticipatory than any real hardship at the moment. Oh, we complain when running errands and such but it could be so much more.

Having made the move last year, we are trying to plan some trips for this year. We have plane tickets for NYC booked. We are looking longingly at France. It is good to be able to consider doing trips even in the current economic climate. (Although watching the market, who knows how long that will last? Makes one glad some of the portfolio is in Muni bonds.)

I'm not writing, only blogging. But whose fault is that. There's time enough and more. Obviously I'm doing what I want with it and I'd rather mess with finances, blog, edit pictures for a picture blog, read newspapers, read books.

Speaking of books: did I mention that I finished Joyce's Ulysses.? Yes, I laid eyes on every word, understood or not. I pulled out a book of essays on it we purchased in Paris in 2004 (the centenary of Bloomsday) and started it. My bookmark is a boarding pass stub from that trip. Woo-hoo. Cheers me somehow. In New York in June we plan to go to a reading of Ulysses at Symphony Space.

I'm not exercising enough but I'm walking a lot so if I travel I'll be up to the sort of flânerie I'd expect to do on trips. I could be exercising now but I'm blogging.

Financially, things could be better. We could have saved more and given the results lately on stocks and bonds, we could have invested more wisely. (See above about muni bonds, though.) However, we seem to still be living within our means while still reserving profligate amounts for eating and drinking, charity and, to a lesser degree, travel. So, yeah, things could be much, much worse. We don't have jobs to lose unless you could FFP's 'job' doing writing assignments through our wholly-owned Sub S. We probably bought our condo at a bad time (can't imagine it's worth what we have in it) but we also sold our house and if it wasn't the highest price we could have gotten, it was certainly reasonable. I fear that when the entire economy is in collapse it can't help but affect us (and our parents), but one is helpless to change these things. It wasn't our behavior that brought about the bubble or its bursting. So. Whatever.

Life is good, right? Until you tangle with a tree limb.

Is anyone else bored with my whiny blogs? Oh. Well. Off to exercise. Or clean the kitchen. Or, you know, do something useful.

I Love a Monday

When I worked, I dreaded Mondays and yet, once my butt was in my chair at work, I felt that life was full of hope and possibility. Maybe I'd accomplish a lot during the week. Also, as I drove to work, I usually thought of just how I was going to take care of things on the home front. I'd organize things, I'd clean this, discard that, conquer the other.

Today was a clean calendar. No external obligations. A call to Dad revealed that he didn't need anything either. "I have bananas. I'm just like a monkey...I'm happy as long as I have bananas." I will take him to a memorial service for one of his Sunday School friends on Wednesday, but, until then, he doesn't need my assistance.

I had been plugging away at my taxes, gathering info for the CPA, organizing. It was time (even though I was shy a couple of K1 forms) to put it in her hands. Her office is on South Congress, the day was lovely. So I talked FFP into walking down there. Then we came back and had a drink and snack at Jo's on Second. (Note to self: don't get veggie barbecue again. Indigestion and it wasn't as good as the stuff White Mountain makes.)

Anyway...when we got home I decided that I wanted to sit in front of my computer and do finances and blog. That I wanted to work the crossword in the Times. (It's a gimme on Monday but usually still interesting. I love Monday because the crossword goes back to being easy.) But, I decided, before I did any of these things, I was going to clean. I did the main bathroom yesterday. So...I borrowed a vacuum and did major dusting and vacuuming in the main areas. Only when I finished that and felt all accomplished and returned the vacuum did I allow myself to sit at the computer. Then I made myself do some accounting for bond interest and called bonds and stuff. I noted the declining value of, well, everything. Only then did I allow myself to do the puzzle. (I did that damned KenKen, too. How dare they put another puzzle in the Times? It's better than Sudoku but not much.) And now I'm letting myself blog. About Mondays. I love Mondays because sometimes I get things done. The Sunday dread that builds up from goofing off too much is gone.

So, now, I'm going to shower and go out. FFP is off at a meeting. I may find someone else to go out with. But if not? Going out by myself. Hey bartender! It's Monday. I'm not blue. Set 'em up.

[Shop window reflection portrait at Blackmail today on South Congress.]

Not So Fast

I'm not feeling up to my life right now. Out playing tennis in the wind yesterday, I made a lot of mistakes. And when I did something right it didn't seem to matter to me.

Today's photo is a shop window reflection of a yoga place that was dressed up for the Marathon the other weekend. I don't run. Twenty-six anything? I don't think so.

Right now I don't have an injury. No excuse. No strained knee. No strained toe. No strained lower back. I was a little allergy dizzy yesterday morning but it was gone when I was playing tennis.

I've worked on my taxes. That's depressing. But I've almost got everything together for the CPA. Two partnerships haven't shipped K1-s. I have swithered over whether to bother to claim some non-cash donations. (What did you pay for the little antique table you gave to the Settlement Home? Why $200 I think, or so, there was still a tag on it. What is it worth? Who knows? And the wine the ballet and symphony auctioned off? It makes me tired.) Although in the post-Obama-appointee-we-will-vet-and-yet-what?-I owed taxes? climate I'm a little more cavalier than ever about taxes. And, oh, by the way, I'm sure that they will find a way to make me pay more taxes.

I'm feeling slow. And lazy. And useless. Probably because I am. I need to straighten and clean. I need to exercise. I need to get my car washed. I don't know why I threw that in, but that is one thing about our parking here which is open to the wind...cars get very dirty. I'd like to be reading and writing but I'm blogging.

Last night we had a real downtown stroll in the cold wind. We walked to a party room at Whole Foods for the release of the new issue of L Style/G Style and then to the Paramount to see Lily Tomlin. (Hmm...was it just me or was that sort of boring.) We wanted to get into the Elephant Room to see Jeff Lofton do a Miles Davis tribute but there were a couple of dozen people waiting on the cold sidewalk at 10PM. So we walked to Taste and ordered some sweetbreads and foie gras. Allegedly the chef saw the offal order and said "Is that Linda and Forrest?" He came out and talked to us. We enjoyed the organ meats. I had a little Montrachet and FFP had some Mouvedre which I also tasted. We were tired and we came home. And this morning we slept in until almost eight.

I sit here watching Face the Nation, having already watched most of Sunday Morning. I have the good life. No demands except the ones I'm making on myself to clean, organize, read, write, exercise. Well, the demands of the IRS loom but I'm on the case. So can I relax and enjoy my freedom and leisure? We'll see. I tried to work the Sunday NY Times magazine crossword but it completely eludes me today.

When I called my dad today he said a friend of his had died and services were Wednesday. I volunteered to take him. Next week is not a bad week with some expected and unexpected free time, time to get things done. But then things heat up with some social stuff and SXSW film fest and some promised relative visiting.

I Am So Forgetful

[Wiggy's Wine and Liquor seems to have the Elephant as a mascot of sorts and this is a reflection of their window. Elephants are supposed to have good memories, right? 'Remember to pick up booze on the way home....']

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and forget what I did last night. No, not blackouts or anything. Days just run together. When did this happen? That? What's on the schedule for today?

Which is why I should keep a detailed journal. Lately I haven't been doing it. I haven't been revealing all here on the blog nor writing a journal document on my computer every day. I wish I would. Otherwise I may forget doing some things, thinking some things completely. And that would be a shame. Or would it?

A lot of times I remember that I have been somewhere before, seen someone before. But the circumstances elude me. And the time frames? Forget it. This morning my dad felt like making conversation during my morning call to him.

"I was going through my pocket knife drawer. I found the one you bought me on that first trip to Europe, the Swiss Army Knife."

"That was 1972." I do remember momentous years in my life and therefore 1972, the year I quit a good job and tramped around Europe, sticks in my mind.

"I thought I'd give it to Forrest, but I thought...he probably doesn't carry a knife."

"No, Dad. I always pack one in the checked luggage when we travel. Then he asks me, 'Do you have any scissors?' or 'Do you have a knife?'"

The only reason I don't forget to pack the knife is that it is on a master list that I maintain and modify for each trip.

Well, I'm off to play tennis. During tennis I will forget, occasionally, what happened on the points that have just been played. This forgetting is sometimes a blessing.

The Art of the Walk

Today I made a choice. OK, several choices. But one of them was to not go to the gym and really get up a sweat, maybe finishing reading Molly Bloom's soliloquy on the bike, lifting some weights. And instead to go down to the Hike and Bike trail with FFP and breathe in the fresh air and look at the blue sky and see people, running and walking and biking and pushing strollers. People sweating or strolling. Talking to each other. We saw several people we know. We really enjoyed it. Maybe it wasn't the optimum exercise for the body (because we don't run, race walk or even walk fast...we stroll, stop to look, take pictures). But it really feeds me emotionally.

It is fun to see things from new directions, to see people out there enjoying Austin's amenities. We noticed all the adjacent parking lots were crammed. We felt good we didn't have to drive to get there.

Another choice I made this morning was to sit, drink coffee, watch Sunday morning TV and work the crossword. Ah, yes. Sunday. A day of great choices.

Why You Need Me

OK, maybe you think you don't need me. But you do, I promise. Otherwise who else would be:

• Not worrying about losing a job since I don't have one.
• Continuing to spend money eating out and drinking like there is no tomorrow. (I thought Obama said to do it, didn't he? Or was that Cheney telling me there was no tomorrow?)
• Taking pictures of reflections on bad hair days and digitally altering them to make them fraught with artistic flair and meaning.
• Not accumulating debt. Still not. No toxic loans. No anything loans.
• Driving an eight-year-old car. See one above.
• Moving downtown at 60 and trying to be an urbanite. (Why is suburbanite OK with Blogger spell check but urbanite not?)
• Questioning spelling.
  
• Blogging when she has nothing to say.
• Providing contrast to the size 0-4 bodies downtown.
• Still subscribing to magazines and newspapers.
• Making everyone else look productive.

Yeah, so, I haven't anything to say but I feel like blogging. I'm feeling celebratory that my computer works so much better after cleaning up the mess VMWare made of the Windows image.

Flânerie

Flânerie? Is it a kind of stone work as above? Just a squishy French word that the Blogger spell check doesn't recognize even though a good English dictionary will have a listing? Am I a flâneur? Is that a confession I should make on the Internet?

Got an e-mail a couple of days ago that Michael Barnes, the uber-social blogger and columnist over at the Austin American-Statesman, had posted a blurb about a book about walking. In it, says he, this Brit Geoff Nicholson talks about synonyms for walking. One of which is flânerie. Anyway my friend who alerted me to the post is a friend that I used to have lunch with monthly. We still have a monthly lunch but we add a stroll to it before and/or after. I have been familiar with flanerie for a long time. It's not really about walking. It's about the the kind of observation you can only usually do while walking. Or sitting in a public place. I like to walk around with my digital camera and, if I'm alone, perhaps with a notebook. Sure I'm motivating on my feet but, more importantly taking in images (whether actual ones or just mental observations) and ideas. The stone wall above is interesting. It's tucked away in a walkway behind Book People. Only walkers would probably ever see it.

I already own two books (one read, one unread) about Flânerie. This one and this one. Starting small book collections about an obscure subject and perhaps reading (or pretending to read) them in a cafe or sitting on a wall...that's very much in the spirit of the flâneur. It's all related in my mind to the dilettante. Something I've frequently written about. And even wrote a poem about.

Yesterday I had a walk and a lunch with my flânerie friend. It was random and fulfilling. As such things should be. And this morning this vain attempt to write about how I feel about these things I have wasted time that should have been devoted to cleaning, exercise, finances or, at least, some reading. But somehow that's OK with me. And what would we expect from a dilettante fan of flânerie. Now I' m thinking that since FFP has taken the dilettante mantle (he has 'Consulting Dilettante" on his business card) that I should make some new cards that say "Flâneur." (Right now mine say 'Pretending to Write but Really Just Blogging.' Much less pithy if funny and accurate.)

Stuff Happens

Boy I look fat. But then...I am fat. I look solemn but I was really feeling pretty good. Can you see the glass cowboy hat in the window?

We took a walk into old West Austin today. FFP went with me and we ate a sandwich at Portabla. Delicious. We could have lunch and dinner (breakfast, too, probably) at a different place without repeating for many weeks, all walking. It's awesome.

We planned a trip! To New York. For Bloomsday. I'm almost finished with Ulysses. Bloom is home, in bed, pondering it all.

I'm having some interesting computer issues. I'm doing a few chores, enjoying my life, reading papers. I'm not blogging anything of value. So it goes.

Ephemera, Ephemeral

This title (illustrated here with a collage of scanned paper ephemera) has been kicking around in my head for a day or two. Also this one: Words and pictures.

Life consists of nothing but millions of moments. Each marked from our perspective with ephemeral thoughts or actual ephemera (a ticket stub, disposibile drip catcher, label, a piece of currency). Even the most substantial things eventually flee us...or we them.

Moments are marked by ambient sounds (I happen to be listening to Jeff Lofton's jazz trumpet on his WEB site as I type this), the light, the disappearing coffee in your cup. If you follow something like Twitter or Facebook feeds you can follow the beat of your friends' moments. There's you, wasting a moment, watching others waste a moment. [I stopped here to get another coffee from my Capresso Jura E8. I also thought "I wonder if I'll mention that I heard Jeff Lofton's quartet at Belmont last night after getting some free premium Crown Royals at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse bar. I wonder if I'll remember what we did last night next year or even next week."]

Making it all add up, looking back (looking forward is so much harder) is the stuff of memoir. If I ever write a memoir, please consider it less than accurate. Because...

Yesterday I was reading scribbled notes in an old journal, trying to see if there was anything worth capturing before I did something with the journal. (It's a pretty one with lovely paper, made in Florence with scenes of that same city reproduced in a watercolor on the cover.) I immediately fell into a curiosity about what I was doing at the time I wrote the notes (six years ago, 2003). I could see that we were getting ready for a trip to New York. I was confused as to why. I was only slightly less confused after reading pieces of a pretty comprehensive online journal. All of which made me think that I wasn't writing enough journal entries of the type filled with 'then we did this, then I did that, then I showered and put on blue jeans.' Moments lost.

Besides minutes ago FFP came in from his Pilates class and dug around in the drawer for our tickets to a ballet tonight and a musical performance at the Paramount tomorrow night and I was thinking how much less attractive and interesting the computer-printed and bar-coded tickets were than some tickets I saved in my ephemera boxes. I was thinking I probably wouldn't save them nor write about seeing Ballet Austin's "Hamlet" and Ramsey Lewis and Ann Hampton-Calloway in any coherent way that I could ever find again and associate with this Valentine's weekend in 2009. And that made me a little sad but that's life. How many moments do we spend trying to recapture moments as we hurtle forward through another day, another 86,400 seconds (some spent sleeping...did I mention I had interesting dreams last night now forgotten and unrecorded?). We can collect ephermera, words and pictures. But the past is running away to a speck in the distance, each moment an emepheron, souvenirs of same notwithstanding.

I love this forward motion, but something in me wants to capture it even while understanding that I will never succeed. Hence words and pictures to recall if not recapture.

Who's In Charge?

[FFP and I saw this dog in a parked car along W. Fourth on Saturday. His parents were probably at the Farmer's Market. When we first stopped to marvel at the 'dogs pretend to drive' aspect there was a dog in the shotgun seat. Neither dog barked at us when we stopped but that one got into the back seat as if it expected one of us to take shotgun. Driver didn't budge and kept his eyes mostly on the road. Some foreign girls stopped to laugh.]

I've been thinking lately about the economy, about what BHO (my friend Eugene has started calling him this although, really, it doesn't have much of a ring to it) can do, what I can do, what you can do.

I figure, really, that the causes (housing bubbles, Ponzi schemes, derviatives, speculation, bad loans, the rest of it) just have to take their course.

I was thinking about all this talk of the government restructuring loans. Now if we as taxpayers buy these loans or the banks holding them and want to do that, I guess it's OK. But it started me thinking about the mortgages that I own, made on my own real property. What if the government unilaterally decided to retroactively change those agreements? I'm not saying anyone is suggesting that. Still, it gives you pause. What if a bank was solvent and the government decided to change loans it had made retroactively. That would be bad. I'm just saying.

Anyway, with all the flap over the stimulus plan I wonder what difference it will really make. I'm thinking Barack will have more influence as president over deployment of troops and the holding of terrorist suspects than the economy. Really and truly, world economies are very influenced by billions of consumers. This is especially true in the U.S. I know, I know. Jobs=spending. Hope=spending. Tax relief=spending. But I wonder.

So, what am I doing in the current economic crisis?

• I'm trying to shop in independent shops I want to help stay afloat.
  
• But thinking hard about every spending decision.
• And buying an expensive Lego for my great Nephew on Amazon because it is oh so easy. (Click the wish list, pick the toy, click the address of my niece, click my credit card, done.)
• But at least I spent some money on something.
• I'm trying to eat out at restaurants that I love and that are locally run.
• And buy wine as gifts for friends at local wine purveyors. (Because really you are spending money and people are enjoying it, it's gone and then repeat.)
• And buying gift certificates to restaurants as gifts, the same local ones.
• Driving my eight-year-old car less and making trips count. (Sorry, no new car. Sorry, reduced demand for gas. Or is that good? I did do a pretty major repair on it. And really I always drove cars into the ground and paid cash for new ones even when I was making great money.)
• Planning to buy things from Royal Blue Grocery's new location in my building rather than from bigger retailiers because a grocery store in your building...how cool is that? They may open within the week.
• Looking to buy a little storage cabinet for the second bathroom and still considering new digital cameras, a GPS and a netbook. I'm just saying: I might buy some stuff. I keep resisting, though.
• I'm thinking of planning trips to New York and maybe France.
  
• I'm staying in the uncounted unemployed. I have been 'retired' for six years. Which just means I quit my job to live on my investments. I'm too young for Social Security and I have no defined benefit pension. I don't count in the 7.6% and growing ranks of unemployed. I am not taking a job that someone else needs. (Note that Barack's wife left her job, too, and is probably in the uncounted unemployed. She had a good job, too. I'm just saying.)
• I'm spending money on my credit cards but paying everything off every month.
• I'm still giving to causes but taking a harder look at my budget for that. (See above about trips. Selfish, huh?)
  

It's all about a bunch of people doing their things, isn't it? One at a time. Until it becomes a trend. One guy getting a stupid upside down mortgage and onerous amounts of credit card debt is nothing. A bunch of you? That's something. (It's not me. It was never me!) When one company lays off people, too bad for those people. When every other article is about layoffs or furloughs? So goes the economy.

Let's hope the 'economic stimulus' can take a swipe at stalling or reversing these trends. Let's hope it isn't like that tax rebate last year. As my dad says, "I still have mine in the bank." Of course, soon he has to give much more than that to the tax man.

Between the Inevitable and the Immutable

I was not looking forward to going to Dad's today. I was getting out of the house to play tennis and so it made sense to go a bit further north and see after a few things for him though.

The other day I had to tell him his sister died. Not easy. Today I was just taking the obituary for him to read. (It had been sent as a scan via e-mail to me by a cousin.) Today I had to tell him how much he owed the tax man and how much he'd have to make in quarterly payments because he had an unusual bump in income. "I bet you get a refund next year if you live long enough." He allowed that he wouldn't pay the tax man until April. "Maybe I won't have to do it," he said. "Yeah, I'd have to do it." We joke like this all the time. We know that none of us live forever and none of us know when the time will come.

Death and taxes. The inevitable for us mortals. And even politicians have to die.

There was an old wives' tale that I always heard that your fingernails and toenails kept growing after you died. Then I read somewhere that it wasn't true. That the tissue around them shrank back and made it appear true. Whatever. I trimmed my dad's toenails for him. He'd soaked his feet to make it easier. He talked about the horse stepping on the one toe and how he'd had to stay off of it and so he had to stay inside and cook and wash dishes and strain milk, etc.

"I didn't have a crutch. Do you know what I did?"

I did, but I didn't say so.

"I used a straight chair and put my knee in it and moved around the house that way.

I gave my dad a book I bought for him about Iceland. He said he was going to spend the afternoon reading it. I also took him a bottle of champagne in a gift bag with a Valentine's Day Card signed from us and him. It is for his good friend Maja. She is from Iceland and, in fact, took my dad on a trip there. She gives him rides and meals. My sister and I call her 'the good daughter.'

While I was playing tennis and having a fine time on the muddy clay on a day the hard courts were dangerously slick when we started, I was kind of depressed about having to talk to my dad about death and taxes and trim his toenails because his back won't allow him to do it. (When he could still drive he went somewhere and got a pedicurist to do it. I think he went to a place he'd taken Mom for mani/pedi.) But when it was all done, I felt better. Dad wrote a check for the CPA cheerfully. He was pleased with his gift for Maja. And he was excited to have a new book that interested him to occupy his afternoon. (Actually it was only new to him. I bought it in the antiquarian book store on 12th Street.)

[Photo is a reflection in a shop on West Sixth. Thought of using it for the March theme day ('glass') for City Daily Photo, but I think I'll find another.]

Me and My Papers

Newspapers as we know them are dying. My friend over at Insomniactive has pulled a lot of info on this issue.

This has implications for all of us. Even those of you who, like the others on my hallway (see above) don't get newsprint versions, are relying on the reportage of newspapers even if you consume it online or secondhand. I guess. Unless you only read blogs for info. And just stupid ones like this instead of ones created by legitimate journalists who research things and know how to write. Not to denigrate reading blogs, but nothing beats guys and gals going out and getting stories for a living and bringing them back to us, coherent and thorough and allegedly without bias. (Although it helps to get several as we do, see above.) Reading blogs is a drill down into individual brains but newspaper reporters often bring us the more sweeping issues.

And yes, I know most of the content goes to the WEB for free, no trees involved.

The death of the clumps of paper with fresh news, pictures, charts and figures, delivered to our door is going to hurt me. Even though I'm drowning in papers and even though recycling is a pain and even though, yes, I can find it all on my computer I suppose.

The form isn't the same. Sitting over a meal with FFP (we almost always read at meals when it's just the two of us), or on the exercise bike, I turn the pages guided by the headlines. I pause at photos or maps. I even look at ads. The structure is predictable and comforting. Inside the front page section of The New York Times there is a summary of news (recently expanded to two pages for the age of ADD). There are also ads for luxury jewelry and watches and knick-knacks. Yes, still. On Tuesday there is Science Times. On Wednesday, Dining In Out. The Austin-American Statesman has XLent on Thursday. I skip Sports Sections, mostly, unless there is really big tennis news. I occasionally flip the Statesman Sports over to see if there is a Fry's ad. I look at Fry's ads in that paper and J&R and others in The Times mostly to see what gadgets are out there, what they are going for. I am tempted by the crosswords. So the leisure sections get pulled out. I like to read about plays, movies, books, dance, opera, etc, too. When I'm looking at a new section of newspaper I know it's fresh content. Well, sort of. If you read three newspapers then you may see the same story. It may even be exactly the same story.

FFP goes directly to the editorial and letters pages, I think. I don't usually read these. I would rather get opinion on blogs. We both peruse obituaries. The local ones to see if someone we know died. But all obits to see the fallen, how old they were and what got them. (In The New York Times obits the cause of death is usally paragraph two. After para one which tells you why the dead is newsworthy.) The obits in the local rag are mostly paid ads. Relatives pay hundreds or thousands to run some stuff for a few days. There are also short blurbs from funeral homes that are a 'public service' and, of course, news stories on the deaths of the locally famous or infamous.

There are so many predictable, wonderful things in my papers. Oh, they change things sometimes. I remember when the Times never used color. (I also remember when authors' names in The New Yorker were at the end of articles and they sometimes continued articles over multiple issues.)

Well, I have been trying to write this for two days. While newspapers piled up. And, shudder, we bought three books at Book People today and there two others I've been intending to start and...oh well. Enough of writing about newspapers. I'm going to go read.

Stories from Before My Memory

"I'm sure your mother told you this dozen of times," he said this morning. Well not that I remembered. "We went to a party at the Russell's over near the old highway at Wilson Creek. They were having kind of a rodeo party, people were riding their horses. Someone [he actually named the woman but I have forgotten it in the last hour] saw your mother and said, 'Dixie you should have brought a basket.' We got home and about two in the morning [he hesitated here and I thought he was going to say her water broke or something but he continued] we went to the hospital." I knew I was born around four in the morning. I never remember hearing about the party ala rodeo or the basket comment. And I guess I didn't realize my mom hadn't been at the hospital very long when I was born. That's me above, ten months old, in a picture my maternal granddad carried around in his wallet apparently.

When I call my dad, we have discussions that ramble on. Since I call every morning we have to talk about something. Somehow this morning we drifted onto his father. And onward from there to family and the fact that he only had two sisters left of five sisters and a brother. "My father served the purpose of a father. He loved his girls, but didn't give a damn for us boys. He thought he should retire at 55."

"He should have retired at 55 if we was going to get a retirement." My paternal granddad died a few months before I was born at 67.

"Yeah. He was out running the combine the week before he died. He never really did retire."

Family history. We think things are momentous. Historic. We snap pictures of our children. Of graduations and weddings. And then gradually things fade. I often riffle through old pictures for sale in junk shops and wonder at the people whose precious memories are now just another bit of detritus.

What the 'L?'

Every place on Second Street has a S-A-L-E and that's the L from Estilo (with LB in there somewhere). I've been missing since Saturday from this space, it seems. I've been doing things, though, really.

We saw Austin Lyric Opera's "Rigoletto." I enjoyed it immensely. Well, as much as I enjoy any opera which is to say as much as I'm equipped to enjoy it. A lot anyway. I especially liked the soprano. I think it's so difficult to get stabbed and stuck in a tow sack and still sing an aria. I'm just saying. Yeah, I'm opera stupid but I'm working on it. Great production in our lovely new Long Center.

I watched TOO MANY sports on Sunday. I'm sports weary. I watched the Aussie Open Final (Federer-Nadal), a UT women's basketball game and the Stupid Bowl. I'm giving up sports until the French Open. I think I saw Roddick practicing on the fake clay tonight. Maybe not.

I did Dad duty. I took him to lunch, to church, picked up prescriptions, worked on his taxes, shredded stuff, took and picked up shirts at the laundry, got his garbage and recycling out, took his picture with his monster amarylis. I told him his sister died. I have been to his house three days in a row this week. I was out there a few days last week. Somewhat of a record during a time when he is doing OK, really, pretty much, health-wise. On Tuesday during my every morning call to him he said "My horoscope says 'The methods that helped you get through the day yesterday won't carry you into the future.' So I will have to do things differently." I didn't know he read his horoscope. I also didn't know he watched a string of old M*A*S*H episodes in the afternoon, but I happened to be there to catch him at it this week. Or maybe it's something new. Maybe he's fallen out of love with Rachel Ray and FOX news commentators.

I went to a memorial for a former co-worker who died.

I ate a bag of those Necco conversation hearts they have at Valentine's. I'm a sucker for those. They are crack cocaine for me. But I was disappointed because they have no quality control and half of them had no saying or had it printed in an off-center or in a blurred fashion. So, never again.

I cleaned our bathroom and did a few other chores.

I attended a board meeting at my country club. I'm going to slide off the board. Three years is plenty.

I played tennis. Yeah, of course. But I'm taking a break until next Tuesday and hope my strained back improves.

I attended an education thing about Ballet Austin's upcoming production of Stephen Mill's "Hamlet." I love this production. I loved the education thing where we saw some of the dance and heard about it. I bought the Phillip Glass music for it for the iPod. I like that there is an iTunes mix on the WEB so I can just buy the music. I never have enough time to listen to music. I also became a fan of Jeff Lofton and downloaded a CD his wife gave FFP. He's not on iTunes yet. He played a tune at Austin Cabaret Theater's open mike production with Jim Caruso and Billy Stritch. (Cast Party.) We are now lining up to hear more from him.

FFP and I walked down to South Congress and came back stopping at Vespaio, Cissi's Market and Taste and having some food and a glass of wine at each one. That was Tuesday.

I've been busy. Yep. I caught up most of the financial stuff for now although my taxes loom. I'm behind on reading. I think I'll go read some now. Just as soon as I see how many labels I can attach to this post.